Man of Mystery
by Zanzaforhire
Summary: Paul thought that Akabane was one of the most interesting people in the Honky Tonk to watch.


"Man of Mystery"

By Zanzaforhire

**Disclaimer:** Everything GetBackers is owned by Rando Ayamine & Yuuya Aoki, Kodansha, Ltd. Publishers, TBS, Inc., and KONAMI & Konami Computer Entertainment Japan. I make no money from this, it's just for fun.

**Notes:** This takes place not long after the beginning of the series, and assumes the Honky Tonk stays open twenty-four hours a day. Fun fact—at four pm in London, it's midnight in Tokyo.

* * *

The Honky Tonk didn't get _too much_ business during the wee hours, but there was always one customer that Paul could count on.

Over the years he'd made it his job to Know Things; names, faces, facts—he did his job well. So, on the first night that Dr. Jackal walked through his door, there was no mistaking him. Even at rest something about the man screamed predator so, of course, Paul was watchful. Soon enough, though, he found himself surprised; for a man so frequently touted as dangerously unpredictable, Akabane Kuroudo seemed awfully fond of his routines.

After that first night he'd made himself a regular during the night shift; Paul figured he'd passed some kind of quality test, or else he was just the only place around that was open so late. Either way, it was always the same. Every night, at precisely midnight, he would step through the door and quietly claim a corner booth in the back. The order, too, never varied—one small pot of tea, freshly brewed rather than bagged, no sugar, just milk. He would pour the milk into the cup before the tea then sit there sipping it slowly, drawing out the experience, hands cradled around the warmth of the cup. The only thing that ever kept him away was an assignment and he seemed to savor the next night's cup that much more for it.

The occasion of Akabane's assignments was ultimately what gave Paul the most information to think on about the other man. Sometimes, it became obvious, he would come in straight from finishing one. The length of time that they kept him away had different impacts on their encounters. When he came back after only a night or two Paul didn't even need to look up from his paper; Akabane would announce himself with footsteps that made him sigh—the only indication of frustration he ever gave—as they clung sticky to the linoleum floor, followed by the faint odor of burnt rubber. He was never out of breath but he didn't seem the type to drive a convertible either, and during those times the skin of his face looked wind-chapped. On the next night after his shoes wouldn't stick anymore, looking new and polished.

Though it took a little longer to realize, there was a subtler announcement to his presence after the longer assignments as well. A large truck, that too always the same, would drive past the building; no more than five minutes later, without fail, the pale man would walk through the door as neat and pressed as usual. The only sign that Paul could find that he'd worked at all was the occasional drop of blood on an otherwise spotless white glove, a splatter behind his ear like a splash of cologne.

Sometimes, though, he received assignments while taking his tea. Paul would hear the angry buzz of a cell phone on vibrate. Then came the shuffling of fabric, the soft click as he opened the flip, and the quiet, "Yes?" The murmured discussions over the cell phone that followed were the most Paul ever heard the other man speak at one time. Funny how he seemed more comfortable saying words like "Lady Poison" than the disjointed syllables of his own name.

All this information may have seemed inconsequential to a casual people-watcher but Paul was no _casual_ people-watcher. All together it lead to the conclusion that most who survived their direct dealings with the other man came to—there was _far_ more to Akabane Kuroudo than the simple picture he projected. Just the same, while Paul wasn't fool enough to actually _trust_ the man, it grew fairly easy to fall into their routine. At least until now.

Now he had Natsumi working for him and, earnest as she was, she demanded he let her work the night shift on her first weekend. And so he found his eyes darting to and from the clock the closer the hands ticked down to midnight. Maybe he'd been called onto an assignment and he wouldn't be in. The Transport service was a fluid market, agents could be summoned at any hour of any day…Natsumi's amiable flow of chatter was just dipping into silence when the bell on the door jangled.

Midnight.

Akabane strode in easily, barely faltering when he noticed Natsumi. Before removing his hat he tipped it genteelly as he murmured his usual, "Good afternoon."

"_Afternoon?_" the waitress questioned Paul in a whisper as their customer made himself comfortable in his usual booth. Paul shrugged; he'd grown used to Akabane's unusual chart of time.

Observing carefully from behind his paper he watched the patron-waitress ritual unfold without a hitch, the order was exchanged and Natsumi scuttled off to fill it; Akabane lit a cigarette while he waited. He was stubbing it out just as the freshly brewed pot of tea was delivered to his table. A quiet thanks; in went the chilled milk, followed by the tea itself. He cradled the cup long enough to warm his hands through his gloves before taking his first sip.

Of course Natsumi couldn't take her eyes off of him—she was used to the GetBackers, such fine manners were an oddity. When it came time to deliver the check she fluttered over attentively. It looked like everything was going perfectly as Akabane passed a cursory glance over the bill.

"Who is this new young lady?"

Paul paused in turning a page, eyes flicking back to the corner booth behind his shades.  
Akabane had fixed his politely inquisitive stare on her; a noticeable flush crept up her neck. "I—I'm Natsumi!" she chirped, "I only started on here a little while ago."

"And what a lovely addition." He smiled charmingly as he stood, towering over her, and pressed the cash into her hand. Lingering long enough to curl her fingers around the money he murmured, "Keep the change," and brushed past to make his exit.

Looking between the amount in her hand and the amount on the bill, it didn't take long for Natsumi to figure out that she'd just gotten a _very_ generous tip. Her voice was quiet with awe, "Such a…gentleman…" Face still brightly flushed, her eyes were just a bit starry.

Paul decided that she wouldn't be working any more nightshifts.


End file.
